Playing on Yggdrasil

Chapter 2

Patrick finished assembling the sauce for their Friday spaghetti night as Justine came in. The smell filled their kitchen as it did every time, it reminded him of Ingrid. She loved this kitchen with the walls painted dark green and white cabinets. The old wooden table that was marked by years of being the centre of his family's home stood in the centre of the room.

"How was your day?" Patrick asked as he set aside his memories to focus on his daughter.

"OK, I guess." She dropped her bag in the corner. "Ms. Palenz had chocolate chip cookies for snack today. Real ones too."

"Did you bring me any?"

"No, silly, we ate them all, then we played Space Invaders," Justine said.

"Space Invaders?"

"Yeah, it's this dinosaur age computer game. It's so old it's kinda cool."

"I used to play that game."

"Well, you see then? Mz Palenz wanted me to ask if you needed anything. I told her your usual answer."

"Thanks." Patrick gave the sauce a stir sending up a waft of garlic and memories. Two years and it still brought him to the edge of tears. "How was school?

"Oh, school." Patrick heard how his daughter's voice changed. "We did reading and math. We're starting a new book about a swan that has no voice. Ms. Hall was going to do Charlotte's Web, but she was afraid with Charlotte dying at the end that it would bring up 'issues'."

Brother, were they still at that? Justine had no problem reading Charlotte's Web and weeping over the spider's death at the end. She cried every time she read the book. While it didn't bother her; all through the last two grades her tears terrified her teachers. They had called him in a panic when Justine cried through 'Are You My Mother?' She had tried to explain the minister had said it was OK, but that didn't go over well.

"And Kelly?" he asked.

"Kelly is just dealing with her depressed issues."

"I think it's repressed."

"Whatever, she's still a bully."

Patrick sighed and poured the noodles into the strainer and gave it a shake. He heard Justine setting the table behind him.

"How was your day?" Justine asked.

"Well, I got one client's report done and the boss gave me three more to do."

"What about Wanda?"

"Wanda is nice, but, she's just nice."

"Oh Dad, you aren't getting any younger."

"I'm not worried." Patrick wished a curse on the writers of all movies and books in which the grieving father miraculously found a new true love by the end of the story.

"She doesn't like spaghetti," Patrick said as he piled the noodles on their plates.

"So that's that." Justine came over and slopped sauce on the noodles and put 'shaky cheese' on top. Patrick carried the plates over to the table.

"Thanks for the food," Justine prayed, "and say hello to Mom for me."

"Amen."

He twirled the spaghetti on his fork, while Justine tried to do the same. She managed a reasonable amount, but it fell off on the way to her mouth.

"O darn," she said. Then she sighed and picked up her knife to cut the spaghetti into manageable bits. "Do you miss Mom?"

"Every day."

"Me too."

They finished their meal in companionable silence, then Patrick washed dishes while Justine did her homework.

"I could get you a desk for your room," Patrick said.

"I like the kitchen table. It keeps me close to you."

"And the fridge," he said.

"And the fridge."

She got up and helped herself to a glass of milk, then sat down with her book. Patrick smiled as memory and reality meshed. Ingrid had liked to work at the kitchen table as well. She'd have designs, fabric samples and paint chips all over the table. For a moment Justine's blond head looked just like Ingrid's and Patrick felt the pain of her loss like a dagger in his heart.

"It happens to me too," Justine said. "I see her and think that she's come back." She came around the table and hugged him tight. He hugged her back and thought she had her mother's empathy too. There were many times that Ingrid had seemed to know exactly what he was thinking.

***

Saturday morning Patrick got up to the sound of cartoons and the smell of coffee. He put his robe on and went to the kitchen. The coffee was just finishing up and he poured a cup.

"Let me know when your brain starts working."

Patrick buried his nose in the steam from the coffee and let the aroma carry the grief away. Ingrid used to say that; now it was his daughter's way of saying good morning. He smiled and took a long sip. The bitter heat flowed down his throat and he decided that it was a good day.

"So what are we doing today?" he asked.

"My room," Justine said. "I can't stand it anymore."

"We just did it last year."

"But it's pink!"

"You wanted pink."

"That was last year. There's some paint in the basement. I can mix up some new colours."

"Colours?"

"I want to do some colour blocking on the wall by my bed." Justine looked down. "I was looking through some of Mom's stuff for ideas."

Patrick came and sat beside her. He gave her a squeeze.

"That stuff is as much yours as it is mine. She was your Mom."

"She is STILL my Mom," Justine shouted. "It doesn't matter if she's dead. She's still my Mom." She ran out of the room and Patrick listened as she thundered up the stairs. Her door didn't slam, so it was safe for him to follow. He found his daughter lying on the bed looking at some pictures cut out of magazines, a folder with paint chips and fabric swatches sat on the bedside table. The room was very pink.